


Drink Off

by verakeyes



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5704666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verakeyes/pseuds/verakeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hancock may be able to handle drugs, but can he hold his liquor better than the survivor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink Off

**Author's Note:**

> this is mainly a short, self-indulgent drabble with my survivor, marie, who centers around the 'party girl' perk.

He was a ghoul, as Marie had come to find out; a human exposed to lethal amounts of radiation that, instead of dying, mutated. Though her initial meeting with ghouls was with the deformed ferals, she didn't think Hancock would start biting anyone anytime soon, at least, not without reason. She laughed at the thought, imagining a drunken Hancock stumbling around, teasingly mumbling over and over, "Oh, now I'm feral!" 

Her laugh must have caught his attention, because in a moment Hancock's head spun around to reveal an inquisitive look. 

"What'cha laughin' about?" he asked, slowing down to meet her pace. "Somethin' on your mind?"

Glancing over to him, she returned his smirk, "Just thinking about how I could drink you under the table." 

"Oh, is that so?" he laughed, his raspy voice filling the air, "You *do* know who you're speaking to, right?" 

It had just occurred to her that, despite their time together, she had never seen Hancock truly drunk. Sure, they'd shared the occasional bottle, and she had, of course, seen the man high, but never completely plastered. He, in turn, had never seen her drunk personality, either. 

"Tell you what," Marie smiled, "let's have a contest. When we get back to Goodneighbor, we'll head to The Third Rail and then we'll see who can hold their liquor better."

"You're on, sister," he grinned, "and tell you what; when I win, you'll have to pick up the tab."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Hancock."  
_______________________________________________

After a quick stop to Daisy, the two headed down into The Third Rail, where Hancock had a seat cleared, and drinks lined up. The booze went down in line from weakest to strongest; basic beer to Bobrov's Moonshine. Hancock sat down in the seat across from Marie, giving a small grin and motioning towards the liquor. 

"Ladies first."

Marie smiled playfully before downing the entire bottle of beer placed before her, grimacing slightly. She never much cared for the taste of beer, much less warm, flat beer. Nevertheless, she placed the empty bottle to the side and handed Hancock his bottle.

"Your turn."

Gently taking the bottle from her hands, he practically inhaled the drink, finishing in a fraction of the time it took her. Putting down the bottle, he leaned back and crossed his arms, giving her a smug look of satisfaction.

'Oh, it's on,' she thought to herself as she raised the wine bottle to her lips. The beer was finally over with, and it was time for familiar territory. Wine was something Marie was used to finding in her glass, and took particular pleasure in savoring the drink, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Taking a breath, she quickly swallowed half of the bottle before thrusting it back on to the table, leaning back to mimic Hancock. 

Now, in retrospect, she realized that starting a contest like this was a surefire way to get them both killed, rather than provide a fun bonding activity. However, as this thought arose, the liquor began to kick in and she felt the thought float away. 

Round five came and went and she could feel herself getting drunk, swaying slightly as she began to lose her firm center of balance. Hancock, on the other hand, stayed relatively motionless, focusing intently on the next bottle in the line. Confusion clouded her momentarily before realizing that his stiff posture and focused gaze were just to hide his early signs of drunkenness. She giggled at this realization, and leaned forward, voice bubbly from alcohol. 

"Oh Haaaaaaancock, ready to give up yet?" she teased, before sliding him round six. Vodka. 

He quickly knocked the bottle back, dropping the empty shell on the floor before shuddering and giving her a eager grin. 

"N-not yet."

Sliding out of his chair, he stumbled towards the bar counter, where Whitechapel Charlie hovered, cleaning a glass. 

"Another round, Chuck," he groaned, "strongest stuff you have."

Charlie paused for a moment, assessing the drunken pair. He must have realized that despite how absolutely drunk each of them was, denying his boss another drink was far more trouble than it was worth. His metal arms disappeared under the counter to pull out two gray bottles with the words 'Bobrov's Best Moonshine' plastered on the front. With a sigh, he handed the bottles to Hancock who stumbled back towards the table, devious grin on his face.

"Wh-whoever can chug the whole thing w-without puking wins," he explained, "and the loser not only has to pick up the tab, but also," he grinned, "owes the winner a favor."

Laughing in agreement, she grabbed her bottle of moonshine, sloshing the drink over the table with her swaying arms. Hancock, in turn, picked up his bottle and began to chug. Within seconds, Hancock keeled over and rolled around on the floor, sputtering out the drink. Marie giggled, and knocked back a good third of the bottle before having to gasp for air. She ignored the blatant taste of battery acid and continued on, determined to prove herself as the heavyweight champion. 

 

Then, the next thing she knows, she's awake in the Old State House, flopped over a red couch. Vision blurry and head pounding, she was finally able to make out the scene around her. Bottles littered the floor, along with empty jet inhalers and mentats tins. She silently prayed that she wasn't the one to have taken them, but her doubts were soon quelled when she heard the all-to-familiar snore of Hancock. He was draped over his desk, coat and hat missing. Shuffling to her feet, the light weight of extra clothing weighed on her. Realizing that she was the one who had taken Hancock's clothing, fear began to pool in her stomach. 

How drunk did we *get*?

Removing his clothing, she placed them in a neat pile by his side with a small note attached to the coat.

'You should let me borrow your hat more often.'

Ignoring the pounding sensation in her head, Marie made her way down the creaky statehouse's stairs. Soft laughter erupted from the guards as she made her way outside, causing her to spin her head around quizzically. Noting her reaction, the guards continued laughing, mumbling something about a 'drunk revolutionary.'

Oh.

She wasn't just wearing Hancock's coat for no reason- no, she was wearing it because she decided to prance around his office like it's 1776. Her face flushed slightly, trying to picture her drunken self playing colonial, and Hancock laughing. 

With this new tidbit learned, she quickened her pace towards The Third Rail, panic beginning to form in her throat. 

Sliding through the door, she was met with the cynical glare of Whitechapel Charlie, who tapped his metal hands on the counter incessantly. 

"So," he began, "you finally decide to come rolling back around to pick up the pieces."

She felt a little bit of shame rise in her cheeks, with her teenage and early adult years full of heavy drinking and partying, she thought she could handle the massive amount of alcohol before blacking out. Charlie huffed, passing her a glass of water. 

"This should help with the hangover," he explained, "it's on the house." 

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she took the water and gulped it greedily, not realizing how dry and tense her throat was. The water was cool and refreshing, relaxing her throat and calming her nerves. Watching her, Whitechapel continued to hover a bit before giving out an exasperated metal grunt and whisking her glass away.

"Hancock told me about your little deal, you know," he said as he cleaned the emptied glass, " I suppose that means these drinks are on the house." 

Her eyes widened as surprise rose in her chest, leaving a familiar dizzy feeling in her stomach. 

She outdrank Hancock?

Surprise in her faded as it was replaced with a strange sense of pride. She had been able to best Hancock at one of his own games, a game of excess and excitement. A triumphant smile appeared on her lips as she found herself pulling up a chair at the bar, insisting that Charlie explain exactly what happened. 

"You both are idiots, you know that, right?"

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! this one was a little sloppy, but it was definitely fun to write so i plan to make more.
> 
> (critisim is welcome!♡)


End file.
